


Should Have

by dilapidatedream



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Angst, F/F, Pre-Game(s), Regret, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 08:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1422175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilapidatedream/pseuds/dilapidatedream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Autumn reminds Xu of Quistis, and she thinks of the things she should have done. A collection of moments that chronicle the relationship between the two girls. Pre-game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should Have

Autumn brings with it something luxurious, and Xu tries to absorb it all—to imagine that she is a girl crafted from spongy desires, created to take in everything until it threatens to destroy her.  She imagines that she will go quietly, lost utterances blending with the melodic splatter of viscera upon marble tiles.  Beautiful and abstract, and she only allows herself these musings at tender morning hours in the wake of changing seasons, for she thinks it will be the downfall of her if she ever ponder upon them too long.

In autumn, Xu is her weakest; and in autumn, she met Quistis.

She was but a child then—precocious, true, but a child nonetheless.  It was the same with her, but she was egotistical enough to ignore that fact.  It raised her above the other, her years, and she clung to that power like an pervasive drug, for it was something she had never even glimpsed at before—never even imagined possible.

Ordinary: that was what she was.  She was never spectacularly gifted.  Yes, she was bright enough to earn minimal recognition, a bit of caring, but it always fell below the distinguishing line.  In the fray amongst monotonous threads she stayed, and had it not been for _her_ , perhaps she might have been content.

A lot of things would be different without Quistis, she supposes, but no one can change the colors of the seasons or the progression of unfettered dreams.  No matter how hard one tries.

\----- 

The cool breeze had been flipping the pages of her book when the door to her room burst open, and a goddess in the making appeared.  A rather poor fledgling, however, drowning beneath burlap and leather.  She offers no help—she was never allowed that luxury—and merely watches as the girl stumbles into the room, looking expectedly ruffled.  Blond bangs fell into her eyes, and for a moment, just one flicker of time, Xu has the urge to brush them aside, to feel their softness.

She catches herself in time, though, and watches the falling leaves outside as she waits for the other to speak.

“Um,” she starts out, voice soft and green as the distant memory of summer fields, “are you Xu?”

The question receives a quirked eyebrow in response, and Xu thinks it warrants closing her book.  “Yes, that’s me.”

Fine hands twist together in an egregious tangle, and the girl stares down at her plain shoes as if they are the most interesting things.  “Ah… hi,” she manages, and those hands continue to twist as if she is unsure whether to step forward and reach out, or to retreat—but Xu finds it all rather amusing, and vaguely wonders what shapes those hands could form if only bone would disappear.  “My name is Quistis… I’m your new—”

“Roommate,” she cuts her off, and is pleased when the girl looks back up at her in surprise.  “I guessed as much, with the luggage and all.”  She decides to offer a smile, lest she frighten away the girl too much, but the stretch of skin and the strain upon muscles feels unnatural, like the shiver which sometimes races down her spine.  But the other doesn’t seem to mind dreadfully much, for she returns the gesture with a shaky smile of her own.

The book rests on the windowsill as Xu walks over to the girl, standing in the center of the room like some marble statue in ancient ruins overgrown by weeds.

“Do you need some help with that?” she inquires, motioning to the bags flopped next to stocking-clad legs.

“That would be nice,” Quistis says with a smile that ignites something in Xu, and she thinks that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad not to be alone for once.

\-----

“Come on, wake up!”

The voice reaches her before the pillow flops lifelessly against her face.  With a soft groan, the obstruction is pushed aside before she promptly rolls over and tries to go back to sleep.  The air pounds on her skull and the sheets are like a welcoming lover, and she simply cannot fathom leaving the sultry haze of sleep.

“Xu!” Quistis laughs, painfully persistent, “Wake up or we’re going to be late to class!”  Smooth hands grasp at her own, and all she can do is relent as the soft morning light filters through the blinds of her lids.

When her eyes adjust and she has lost the feeling of vertigo, the first thing she sees is Quistis.  Then, when Quistis reaches up to pull off her sleeping shirt, all she can think of is strawberry-scented shampoo and too hot sheets as she bites into her tongue.  Copper fluid floods into her mouth and she stares at a back paved in unmarred skin as if it is something new, when obviously, it isn’t.

Quistis doesn’t notice and Xu turns around as she swallows the blood in her mouth.

\-----

The cool of the night seeps in between the sheets and wraps insidiously around her thighs.  Her eyes see diamonds and power, trying to draw them in and hoping they can make something worthwhile out of her.  She suffocates with the blanket shoved inside her mouth, so stubbornly, the rough cloth chafing her tongue to the point where she doesn’t notice the lazy ache in her lungs.

Across the room, Quistis lies awake.

The urge to hold her breeds from concern, she convinces herself, as Quistis turns to look at her.  She feels like drowning and wonders whether she really wants to save herself.

She wants to ask, “Do you dream?” but what comes out instead is, “What are you doing awake still?”

Quistis stares calmly back and whispers so quietly, she almost can’t hear.  “I can’t sleep.”

A million things race through her mind.  She wants to tell her that the night haunts her mind and steals her confidence, bit by bit—that the night is the only place where she truly ever feels alone, no matter how hard she clutches at fading promises—that _she_ is the only one she’s ever truly found beautiful, and she wants to hold her until her arms snap; and it’s so terrible because it all feels so wrong yet right—but all that she can manage is, “I’m sorry.”

There is silence before Quistis rolls over onto her side, and Xu covers her head with the pillow before she can hear any more quiet breaths.

\-----

Kissing Quistis reminds her of the first time she summoned a Guardian Force.

She remembers all too well the sudden lurch as she was pulled from the battlefield, disassembled and floating in a blister of suspended time.  She dreamed in that moment, dreamed of nothing, and could see in three opposing directions all at the same time.  Lights danced below and around her, like a blazing net prepared to catch her once she jumped, if only she had the courage.  It lasted infinitesimally and was over so soon she hadn’t the time to catch her breath before her feet crashed back to the ground, and in rushed reality.

It is the same with Quistis, except she is left disembodied and waiting even after it ends.

\-----

Quistis likes her waffles with chocolate syrup.

Xu would stare in bafflement as the other girl returned to the table, emerging from the fog of the cafeteria bustle, tray secure in hands delicate in appearance.  She would continue staring until a guilty twinge urged her to redirect her gaze away from the pink tongue that slithered out to sweep up stray streams of liquid indulgence.

Xu is staring at some nondescript plant and Quistis’ amused chuckle causes her stagnant mind to stir back to life.

“Hmm?”

“Your coffee is cold,” Quistis states sweetly between chocolate drizzled bites, because of course, it’s true.  Suddenly Xu notices the harsh cool of the mug clutched loosely between her lifeless hands.

“Oh,” she manages, because really, there is nothing else to say.

Quistis doesn’t like coffee and she can’t understand Xu’s attachment to the bitter drink.  In all honesty, Xu really isn’t fond of the beverage herself—it burns on the way down and tastes like ash upon her tongue all the way to lunch.  But she drinks it because it reminds her that everything exists and she is herself, not some kelp that inevitably washes away with the incoming tide; not something so worthless.

She will never admit to it, but she also drinks it because it makes Quistis pop a mint into her mouth after they kiss, and she feels clean again with that scent against her pillows.

“Well, aren’t you going to get a refill?” Quistis inquires with the plastic fork balanced perfectly between her fingers.

The coffee is grainy and corrodes her throat with a spectacular ease on its way down.  “No,” she replies after a pause, “it’s alright.”

\-----

“Do you love me?”  The question is breathed against her neck, and she can almost see the phantom fingers constricting and wringing the life out of her.

Quistis is curled against her side, smelling of musk and something inherently feminine.  Her breath spreads over Xu’s damp skin like an unreachable itch: one which she can do nothing about, so she merely pulls her closer, letting the sheets coil around their limbs like so many snakes.  If she concentrates, she can almost feel the slick, scratchy scales against the soft skin over her ribs and hear their hisses in Quistis’ breath—and she wonders whether sleeping with serpents is always so delicious.

Xu thinks upon the question for a moment and realizes she doesn’t have an answer.

After a while and there is still no reply, the body besides her stills.

“Xu?”  Her voice is taut and if only it were something tangible, she’s sure she could snap it with a flick of her fingers.  Slender digits dig into her side with an untamed urgency, and she can literally feel the tension seeping down her spine.  “Do you love me?”

Outside, the crickets are singing, but the symphony doesn’t penetrate through the walls of Balamb Garden.  The shrill pitch reverberates in Xu’s mind, however, refusing to stop, and she really can’t think—not with the way Quistis is clutching at her, or the way her throat has suddenly closed up, leaving air trapped beyond her lips.  She wants to say, “Yes,” but she can’t breathe and everything seems so thick, like honey-slathered dreams.

She wants to say, “Yes,” but she doesn’t know what love is, so she remains silent.

Quistis is leaving, retreating in a haze of silk and desire back to her own bed.  If Xu shuts her eyes and imagines hard enough, she can hear herself say, “Yes, I love you, Quistis,” and she wouldn’t be hearing muffled sobs from across the room.

\-----

Quistis takes the SeeD exam with her, when she is fifteen and Xu is just past seventeen.  They are in the same squad, but Quistis doesn’t look her in the eyes—not once, from the moment they file into the car to the time their final battle finishes in a flourish of rasping breath and crimson splatters.  The scent of blood settles in the pit of her stomach, and she thinks again of wringing hands and stocking-clad legs.

Quistis passes with nearly flawless marks, as is expected.  From her peripheral vision, Xu watches as she takes the medallion without a smile on her face, looking every bit like the goddess she has matured into: a cold and beautiful goddess, brought to life from fresh aspirations and crystallizing under the pressure of the world.  It almost makes her proud to be part of the sculpting process, but it also makes her terribly sad when she thinks of that child—the one made of shy smiles and mint-flavored kisses; the one that no longer exists.

When she watches Quistis dance with some boy at the SeeD ball that evening, she knows she should have said, “Yes.”

\-----

Autumn reminds her of Quistis, with its burnished bronze and withheld secrets.

The rain is harsh against her face, and she tilts her head back to let it invade her further.  She tries to absorb it in hopes that it will cleanse her—perhaps make her better.  But she knows that it will most likely destroy her and she will tear at the seams when her flesh becomes too saturated, like she feared all those years ago.

Then maybe she won’t hear stifled sobs in her dreams any longer.


End file.
